One night, I dreamed of kittens. Three of them, perched on my shoulder like little guardians. By the time I arrived at my destination, only one remained. I felt guilty for losing the other two, and for a split second, I considered buying replacements from a man selling kittens nearby. It was only a dream, but when I woke up, the weight of it lingered: we can’t hold on to everything we love, no matter how tightly we try.
This morning at church, Psalm 90 was on the screen: “Teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom” (Psalm 90:12). Something about those words hit differently after dreaming of lost kittens, missing tripods at church setup, and the fleeting nature of moments I keep trying to grasp. Wisdom is rarely about clutching harder. Sometimes, it’s learning how to let go with grace.
The Kittens and the Clock
That dream wasn’t about cats—it was about life slipping through my fingers. One moment, I’m carrying three, and the next, I’m left with one. Isn’t that how our days feel? We start the week with plans stacked high, only to end it holding onto fragments.
Jesus once said, “Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy” (Matthew 6:19). Maybe He could’ve added “where kittens wander off” too. The point is the same: life leaks. And when it does, the test isn’t whether we can glue the pieces back together but whether we can keep living wisely even when things don’t go as planned.
Joan Chittister once wrote, “Wisdom is not gained by knowing what is right. Wisdom is gained by living what is right.” That landed differently this week. Because sometimes living right means walking home with only one kitten and trusting that God still has you covered.
Tripods, Tension, and Time
Fast forward to Sunday morning. We showed up to set up church service, and some camera equipment was missing. No tripods. No batteries. Just a lot of improvisation and a slightly stressed tech supervisor. We made it work anyway—with borrowed gear, extra hands from campus students, and a good dose of humor.
That moment reminded me: wisdom often blooms in the cracks where things go wrong. You don’t learn much from perfectly planned Sundays. You learn from the mornings when you’re short-staffed, the microphones cut out, and you realize you can’t do everything yourself.
James Clear puts it this way: “You do not rise to the level of your goals. You fall to the level of your systems.” I’d add: sometimes you fall to the level of your patience too. And yet, God meets us there. As Paul wrote, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
Legacy and Laughter
Later in the service, our pastor reminded us to number our days, not to scare us with mortality but to wake us up to meaning. Life is short. Rent is due. Missions contributions stretch us. Birthdays come and go. And yet, in the middle of it all, God calls us to wisdom—not panic.
Annie Dillard once said, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.” That’s been echoing in my head all afternoon. Because how I spend this day—dreaming about kittens, setting up missing tripods, writing words into the quiet—shapes the legacy I’ll leave behind.
The truth is, I laughed a lot today too. At the absurdity of dreams. At the scramble of church setup. Even at myself for spiraling into overthinking (again). Maybe that’s a form of wisdom too—being able to laugh in the tension. Proverbs reminds us: “A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones” (Proverbs 17:22). Sometimes laughter is the wisest response we can offer.
Soul Insights
1. Loss reveals what matters most.
The missing kittens in my dream weren’t about cats but about the parts of life we lose along the way. Wisdom comes in holding the one that remains and trusting God with the rest.
2. Imperfect Sundays teach resilience.
Anyone can thrive when the tripods are in place and the batteries are charged. But it’s in the chaos that character is formed. Missing pieces force us to lean on grace and community.
3. Wisdom isn’t passive—it’s practiced.
Psalm 90 reminds us that numbering our days is a discipline, not a feeling. It’s choosing to live intentionally, even when time feels slippery.
4. Laughter protects the heart.
When the absurdity of life weighs heavy, sometimes the wisest thing we can do is laugh. Laughter diffuses tension, breaks the spiral, and opens space for joy.
5. Legacy is written daily.
I dream of books, blogs, and words outliving me. But the truth is, legacy isn’t one grand gesture—it’s in the way I show up, listen, create, and love each day. Wisdom knows the small strokes matter.
Final Thoughts
Today reminded me that wisdom isn’t found in holding onto every kitten, every piece of equipment, or every fleeting moment. It’s found in knowing that God is present whether we’re carrying three or just one. That presence doesn’t erase loss—it redeems it.
I laughed today at the dream, at myself, even at the tension of waiting for clarity in areas of my life that feel unresolved. And maybe that’s the gift: to live lightly enough to laugh, but rooted enough to keep walking in wisdom. Perhaps the lost kittens weren’t meant to be replaced after all. Perhaps the wisdom is in holding close what remains, and trusting God with the rest.
Your Turn
What are your “lost kittens” right now—the things you wanted to hold onto but couldn’t? Instead of scrambling to replace them, let the tension teach you. Laugh when you can. Pray always. And ask God to number your days—not so you can control them, but so you can live them fully.
© 2025 Amelie Chambord
Soul Path Insights 
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